


Stay

by pensversusswords



Series: The Stars Will Be Watching Us [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Historically Inspired, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fluff, Guard Katsuki Yuuri, Hair Brushing, Intimacy, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Prince Victor Nikiforov, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 12:21:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10876695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensversusswords/pseuds/pensversusswords
Summary: Of all the ways the night could have ended, Yuuri would have never guessed that he would be in Prince Viktor's bed with his royal highness asleep in his arms.





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic is a part of an AU I've been working on in which Yuuri is Prince Viktor's personal bodyguard. It's just a snippet in the midst of all the world building I've been doing but it can easily be read on its own! 
> 
> Some context though: their ages are swapped here, Viktor is around 18/19 and Yuuri is around 22/23 or so. Because of this I've played with their dynamic a bit... as a result of the age swap and the fact that status has a major role in the development of their relationship, they interact a tiny bit differently than I usually write them. This is just how I imagine they would act if their ages were reversed than they are in canon. Anyways I hope you enjoy! Links in the endnotes if you're interested in knowing more about this AU! I will definitely be writing more fic about them in this universe haha.
> 
> ALSO the work has beautiful fan art by the lovely @gisellerocks on twitter! Link [here](https://twitter.com/GiselleRocks/status/855853001269022722/photo/1)! :)

Yuuri notices Viktor’s exhaustion from across the crowded banquet hall, just from the slight slump of his shoulders and the fact that when no one is looking, his princely façade breaks for a moment. His eyes close briefly, as if he is fortifying himself before another guest approaches him. The tiredness is replaced with his usual sunny expression the instant a bejeweled lady sidles up to him and touches his arm to get his attention, but Yuuri doesn't miss it.

Among the many perks of being Viktor’s personal guard, is the fact that in just the past few months, Yuuri has become familiar with many of his mannerisms. He knows the subtle changes in his demeanor, the different ways his mouth will curl depending on the occasion, the way his perfect posture will slip when he is in the company of those he is familiar with, the way his eyes widen with childlike glee when he is surprised into delight. Yuuri is familiar with all of it; the unavoidable result of his job. He spends his days watching over the young prince with an eagle eye. It is his duty to pay attention to Viktor.

Even so, his duty has always been a pleasure. Viktor truly is a sight to behold. The instant he steps into any room, his face breaks out into his most charming smile, and he starts dazzling everyone around him. Clearly he was born for this; he smiles bright as the sun whenever anyone approaches him, laughs graciously when the other nobles tell him jokes, even when they’re not funny in the slightest. He’s been doing this since he was a young child, he knows how to be in the spotlight. No, he _flourishes_ in it, and he always manages a kind of grace and beauty that is envied by all.

From his usual spot in the banquet hall, Yuuri watches as Viktor glides around the room amongst guests with his usual elegance and sunny disposition. Yuuri stays off to the side, out of the way, silently watching over Viktor as he makes his rounds.

Earlier, Viktor had walked alongside him as they made their way to the banquet hall, telling him about the purpose about this particular dinner. He gestured wildly with his hands as he explained; it was a banquet the queen held several times a year for many of the high ranking lords and ladies of the kingdom, meant to be a sign of good will on behalf of the royal family. It is this approach to ruling that made the Queen so well liked; she spends the evening listening intently to every guest in attendance, nodding graciously when they bring her their concerns and complaints. It was her duty to make them all feel welcomed and appreciated.

Of course, Viktor explained to Yuuri that this meant that he was expected to behave similarly. As crown prince, his duty is to charm all the nobles with his darling smile and his ability to make everyone feel like they were the only person in the world that mattered when he talked to him. He needed to make them all feel important.

As always, Viktor fulfills this duty perfectly. He has everyone’s complete attention; he laughs, and all eyes in the room are drawn to him. Yuuri knows the feeling.

But Viktor isn’t invincible, and his tiredness does not escape Yuuri’s notice when it finally catches up to him. Unthinking, Yuuri steps away from the wall and begins his way across the room.

Viktor’s face lights up in a surprised, bright grin when he notices Yuuri standing there. “Yuuri!” he exclaims, “is there something wrong?”

“Um.” Yuuri clears his throat. “Yes, your presence has been requested elsewhere, your highness.”

The grand, painted lady who was just a moment earlier gushing to Viktor narrows her eyes at Yuuri, and he feels like withering beneath her gaze. He knows he should be used to the nobles looking at him that way, but he cannot help but feel small underneath their judging looks.

Yuuri knows that they don’t take him seriously. He’s lost count of all the times he’s accompanied Viktor—to grand balls, to banquets, to other appointments that require Viktor’s princely presence, always a few steps behind Viktor—and a grand noble will lift their chin in Yuuri’s direction, ask Viktor “you take your manservant with you everywhere?”. Viktor would always glance over his shoulder, shoot Yuuri an apologetic look, then give the other person his bright, wide smile, and tell them that Yuuri is his personal guard. They don’t even bother to mask the disbelief on their faces as they look him up and down, take in his slightly built frame, his reserved and unintimidating demeanor. The bolder ones would smirk, or scoff incredulously, like it’s the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever heard.

Truthfully, it doesn’t bother Yuuri as much as it used to. It would elicit a twinge of discomfort, perhaps, but hardly more than that. It bothers Viktor, though. Every time, Yuuri notices him stiffen, and he doesn’t have to see Viktor’s face to know that his smile has gone just a little bit brittle and cold, waiting for a cutting remark.

Surprisingly, this lady doesn’t say anything, though. She doesn’t deign to give him enough of her time to inquire about his existence; instead, she just flicks her eyes over him sceptically, then looks back to Viktor. “Surely whatever it is it can wait,” she purrs. “We still have so much to discuss.”

An untrained eye would have completely missed the annoyance that flickers across Viktor’s face, but Yuuri doesn’t. He really must be exhausted; he’s usually much better at masking those feelings. Yuuri’s heart pangs with sympathy.

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid I must leave,” Viktor says, his voice laced with faux disappointment. He bows his head politely. “It has been delightful speaking with you again, Baroness.”

Viktor doesn’t waste any time hurrying from the hall then, nodding politely at guests as he leaves, but still essentially making a beeline for the door as Yuuri follows behind him. The two palace guards standing by the ornate double doors bow deeply before releasing them into the hallway.

“Ah!” Viktor exclaims as soon as they are far enough away and the doors are closed behind them, muffling the sounds of chatter and music. In true Viktor fashion, he slumps against Yuuri’s side and slides his arm through Yuuri’s. “You rescued me, my knight.”

Yuuri’s throat immediately goes dry and feels a little bit too tight for comfort. “Y-Your highness,” he stammers, immediately looking around wildly, terrified to find that someone might see the familiar way that Viktor is leaning into his side and will get the wrong idea. “This is hardly appropriate.”

Viktor has always been openly affectionate with him, right from the moment he and Yuuri met. He has never seemed to be the type to pay too much attention to boundaries; he’s always talking to him like they have been friends their entire lives, touching his arm when he’s excited, sometimes even hugging him, throwing his arms around Yuuri’s neck in excitement when he can’t seem to contain himself (thankfully, he’s only ever done that when they were alone). Most people seem to turn a blind eye, or are used to this kind of behaviour from Viktor—he _is_ known for his exuberance, but Yuuri feels like he is always waiting for the wrong person to see it, to take it the wrong way and… well. He doesn’t imagine it going well from there.

“Oh! Right, of course,” Viktor says. A flicker of disappointment passes across his face, but he obliges and steps away, releasing Yuuri’s arm, albeit reluctantly. Admittedly, Yuuri instantly misses the warmth of Viktor’s hand on his sleeve, but the nervousness of being caught is still tight in his chest, and he is a little bit relieved when Viktor moves to stand at a safe distance.

“Thank you,” Yuuri says. The words choke him and he yearns to step back into Viktor’s space. He resists the desire.

“I apologize,” Viktor says quietly. He gives Yuuri a small, hopeful smile. “Will you walk me to my room?”

“Of course,” Yuuri says quickly. He doesn’t add that he was going to anyways—it’s his job to accompany the prince for the entirety of his outings, and his duties include making sure that Viktor is safely returned to his room afterwards.

He doesn’t say anything, because a small part of him likes the idea of escorting Viktor to his room just because he wants to, not because he is obligated to do so.

They walk through the halls, not speaking at first, another testament to how tired Viktor must be. It’s a huge difference from how he’d behaved before the banquet—full of energy and bubbling laughter.

 “Thank you for rescuing me,” Viktor says eventually, breaking the silence. “I don’t think I could stand another moment of listening to her prattle on.” Viktor turns to him, gives him a wink that makes Yuuri’s heart thud. “Your intervention was a pleasant surprise.”

Yuuri hopes that the burning warmth that is spreading to his cheeks isn’t as obvious as it feels. “You’re welcome,” he rasps, “but I was only doing my duty.”

“Technically, your duty is to protect me from wandering knives or drunken courtiers who get too handsy,” Viktor points out, “not overzealous dinner guests who talk far too much about themselves.”

Yuuri is about to disagree, but then he realizes, well, Viktor is right. He’s Viktor’s personal guard, not his servant, not his butler, not a palace messenger. His job is to watch over the prince and make sure he’s safe at all times. He was out of line to interrupt and pull him away from his conversation, regardless of how obvious it was that Viktor desperately wanted rescuing.

“Of course,” Yuuri says quickly, “I apologize for stepping out of line, your highness.”

Viktor tilts his head to glance over at Yuuri. “Yuuri, that’s not what I meant.”

“If your mother is angry that you left, I’ll take full responsibility,” Yuuri continues, swallowing thickly.

“My mother will likely not notice,” Viktor says truthfully. There is no accusation in his voice at her inattention; it’s not a slight against the queen, simply an observation. “Unfortunately she will be too preoccupied to excuse herself any time soon. She won’t realize I’ve left for a while, and by then it won’t matter.”

“If you are sure.”

“I am.” Viktor gives him a small smile. “I’ve told you that you don’t need to call me ‘your highness’ when we’re alone, right?”

Yuuri bites his lower lip nervously. Yes, many times, but even when it’s just the two of them, dropping the title is beyond improper. Calling Viktor by his given name, even more so.

“I could command you to call me Viktor,” he says when Yuuri doesn’t answer immediately, his voice playful. Yuuri knows he’s teasing.

“And I would have to obey,” Yuuri responds. Anything his prince wants of him, he would do. But Yuuri knows Viktor well enough to know that he wouldn’t frivolously command Yuuri to do something he didn’t want to do.

Viktor looks away. “But I would not ask it of you,” he says, as if he was reading Yuuri’s thoughts.

“I know,” Yuuri answers with certainty.  

Yuuri doesn’t miss the way Viktor’s mouth twitches at the corners, certainly pleased with the response. A flush of warmth spreads through Yuuri’s chest at the sight.

They reach Viktor’s chambers not long after that, the sounds of the banquet’s revelry far behind them, the only sound being their echoing footsteps. Yuuri nods at the two guards posted outside Viktor’s room, and they return the gesture.

“Good night, your highness.” Yuuri turns to Viktor when they both have stopped walking, and dips his head into a bow. “I hope you rest well.”

When Yuuri straightens, Viktor is looking at him with a peculiar expression, his hands folded in front of him. “I… actually, Yuuri, would you come inside for a moment? I have something to discuss with you.”

The guards open the door for Viktor, who thanks them both graciously, and Yuuri follows behind him with a slight frown furrowed between his brows. He is perplexed, but he isn’t one to question the orders of a prince.

However, he isn’t able to keep silent when Viktor leads him through a sitting room, which features plush chaises arranged around a fire that burns pleasantly in the hearth, and continues onto another set of double doors. Yuuri had been expecting to be told to sit in the sitting room, but Viktor gestures for him to follow him into the other room.

Yuuri obliges, but stops dead in the doorway when he realizes that he is about to step into the prince’s bedroom. A grand chandelier overhead casts light on an ornately decorated room, candlelight reflecting off of the gold accents on all the furniture, casting a shadow over the giant canopy bed, which features elaborately embroidered blankets and fluffy pillows that are piled high at the headboard.

He’s in Viktor’s bedroom. The realization pushes a frantic breath out of his mouth.

Yuuri finds his voice, hardly thinking before he speaks. “Your highness, I cannot come into your room for no reason—“

“There is a reason, though,” Viktor interrupts. He goes to the nightstand, reaches into a drawer and draws something out. He turns and walks back to Yuuri, who peers at the object in his hands. “Will you braid my hair for me?”

“I—I… Your…” Yuuri stammers. He can feel blood rushing to his cheeks and staining them red. He’s forgotten how to speak.

Though this is certainly the most shockingly forward Viktor has been, this isn’t the first time Yuuri has felt this kind of confusion. There have been times when, against his own better judgement, he wondered about Viktor’s intentions towards him. Yes, he knows Viktor cares for him, they are friends despite the vast difference in their status, due to Viktor’s insistence that they bond and become familiar with each other. Yuuri has known for a long time that his own feelings go far beyond friendship, that he adores and loves Viktor deeply, that he would do anything for him. He knows this, and he knows that even on the slight, miniscule chance that Viktor would feel the same way, they could never be together. Viktor is a prince. Yuuri is essentially a palace employee. It would always be an impossible love.

There are moments, though, when Viktor’s hand would linger too long on his arm, when he would smile at him softly, like Yuuri is the only thing in the world worth looking at, that a small, hopeful part of Yuuri would wonder what the prince’s feelings are towards him.

Of course, these moments are always fleeting, and Yuuri is used to squashing those thoughts quickly. That is dangerous territory.

But _this_. This is more forward than Viktor has ever been. The request is intimate in a way that Viktor has never been before, intimate even considering Viktor’s open and affectionate nature.

Yuuri is weak when it comes to Viktor; he feels his resolve falter.

“I’ve given my servants the night off,” Viktor explains. “Usually I’ll ask someone to brush my hair for me after a long night like this, but I won’t call on them to indulge me tonight. They deserve a night of no responsibilities.”

Yuuri shakes his head sharply, as if the movement might clear his brain enough to comprehend the situation unfolding around him. “I…”

“Please?” Viktor asks, a pleading edge to his voice. He holds out the hairbrush. “I won’t make you, but I would like it if you said yes.”

Yuuri’s heart is doing it’s best to beat out of his chest. He wants, he wants so badly to stay, to run his fingers through that silky silver hair. He’s spent many nights imagining what it would feel like, how soft it would be and how lovely it would be to have it slipping through his fingers. He shouldn’t, but god, does he ever want to.

The longer it takes for Yuuri to find his voice; the more the hopeful expression on Viktor’s face drops.  “I apologize. I shouldn’t have asked.” The hand he was holding out with the brush drops, and he gives Yuuri a forced smile. He doesn’t look angry, perhaps a little embarrassed, judging by the way his shoulders hunch inwards and the faint flush that stains his cheeks. “That was selfish of me. You may leave if you wish, Yuuri.”

“I’ll do it!” Yuuri blurts out in response.

His voice comes out too fast, too loud, too sudden, his nervousness manifesting itself in his inability to regulate the volume of his voice. Viktor visibly startles.

Clearing his throat, Yuuri starts twisting his faintly trembling hands in front of him as he fights to regain some of his composure. “I… I will stay. If you want, your highness.”

Viktor eyes him carefully. “Are you sure?”

Yuuri nods once, a sharp, jerky movement. He swallows thickly. “Yes, I’m positive.”

Viktor is an easy man to please. After a moment of observing Yuuri with his focused gaze, his face breaks out into a delighted smile. He bounces happily on his feet before darting forward, happily pushing the hairbrush into Yuuri’s hands. “Thank you, Yuuri! Come here then, take your boots off and come sit with me!”

Yuuri does, while Viktor does the same. Viktor kicks his off while Yuuri carefully peels his own off, placing them neatly near the door. He is impressed with the fact that he is able to do it so efficiently; his hands are unsteady and he feels numb all over. Such a simple task seems like it should be impossible right now.  

When he straightens, Viktor has shed his jacket and is working on the other layers he’s wearing; minimal jewelry, waistcoat, a shirt that he pulls over his head to reveal a soft, loose undershirt, the sleeves hanging a little too long over his hands. He leaps onto the bed and beams at Yuuri as he settles into the pillows.

Numbly, Yuuri crosses the room in his socked feet, his eyes never leaving Viktor, who looks soft and relaxed, casually reclining on the pillows. His thoughts are muddled and incoherent, rattling around in his mind recklessly. They range from “ _he looks so beautiful_ ” to “ _this isn’t happening_ ”. The former is undeniably true, while the latter he is unsure about.

When he reaches Viktor’s bedside, Viktor pats the space beside him, bidding him to sit. Yuuri does, sinking down into the soft mattress, carefully arranging himself next to Viktor.

Viktor shows none of the same hesitance. He scoots over to Yuuri until he is sitting right next to Yuuri, who has to fight to suppress a squawk of surprise at their proximity. Viktor has always been open with his touchiness, but this is more than the way he sometimes will link his arm through Yuuri’s, or the rare occasions he will excitedly throw himself at Yuuri for a brief hug. This is different. He is leaning into Yuuri’s space, so close that Yuuri can feel his warmth radiating off of him, and when he shifts, his hair tickles Yuuri’s skin. He shivers.

“Thank you for this, Yuuri,” Viktor says, wiggling even closer. He’s practically leaning against his chest at this point. “You are too good to me.”

“My pleasure,” Yuuri says truthfully. He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as unsteady to Viktor as it does in his own ears.

He pauses only a moment longer before lifting his hand with purpose.

The first touch to Viktor’s hair makes his heart jump. He gathers a handful of it in one hand, takes a moment to relish the moment. _Softer_ , he thinks. It’s even softer than he imagined.

Viktor hums happily when Yuuri starts running the brush through his hair, a sound that Yuuri imprints in his mind permanently. It’s a sound of complete contentment, rumbling out of him sweetly, not entirely unlike a purr. Yuuri wants to hear it over and over again.

“That feels wonderful,” Viktor murmurs.

Yuuri doesn’t answer. He thinks if he tried, his voice would break and he would give himself away. There would be no denying how this situation is making him feel.

So, he just continues brushing in silence, running the brush carefully and deliberately through his hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers. There are hardly any tangles and it takes hardly any time to work through them, but Viktor makes that contented noise again and leans into Yuuri just a little bit more, and Yuuri finds that he cannot deny him this small comfort. He doesn’t have the strength to do so. He keeps brushing long after he has rid Viktor’s hair of all tangles, occasionally allowing himself to comb his fingers through it alongside the comb. Viktor is allowing it, and he’ll likely never get this opportunity again. He can’t bring himself to not indulge a little.

Yuuri doesn’t know how much time has passed when he realizes that Viktor’s breathing has evened out and that his body is mostly limp against Yuuri’s chest. His chest rises and falls with the deep slowness of someone drifting near sleep.

He stops brushing immediately, drops the brush on the bed next to him. He draws in a long breath and closes his eyes. Viktor is _asleep on him._ Nothing could have prepared him for this turn of events.

Another deep breath. He has to leave, he knows this. He pries his eyes open, and with careful, gentle fingers, he pulls Viktor’s hair into his hand and winds it into a single loose braid. The simple pattern is the only simple thing about this moment.

When he finishes, he carefully tries to extract himself from behind Viktor without waking him.

It doesn’t work. Viktor, having likely been somewhere in between wakefulness and sleep, stirs along with Yuuri. He lets out a soft, sleepy noise of protest and reaches up to wrap his fingers around Yuuri's wrist.

“Stay?” Viktor murmurs, tipping his head back a bit so he can blink up at Yuuri sleepily. He hums softly and shifts against Yuuri’s chest. Though Viktor’s fingers are only gently wound around Yuuri’s wrist, Yuuri feels his touch heavy as lead. Skin on skin feels alight with soft, smouldering warmth. Yuuri could break away from Viktor’s grip so easily, but all he wants to do is soak in that warmth, let Viktor’s fingers leave their mark on his skin like a brand.

“I-I should leave,” Yuuri forces himself to say quietly, though the words seem to try to stick in his throat. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but really, he should. He _must_.

He thinks that Viktor must be able to hear his heartbeat—it’s hammering wildly in his chest, so loud he imagines the sound reaching the high, painted ceiling and echo around the room.

Viktor shakes his head, his eyes sliding closed once again. “Not yet.” His words are quiet, the syllables slurring together slightly. “Too tired to move.”

“I…”

“Shhh.” Viktor shifts against him until his head rests in the space where Yuuri’s shoulder meets his neck. Yuuri brings in a sharp breath. “Allow me this for a few moments,” he says quietly, his voice small and pleading in Yuuri’s ear.

In the end, Yuuri tells himself he is only doing what his prince has commanded of him. He tells himself that he could not disrespect Viktor by ignoring what he’d asked of him, that it was his duty to stay, to hesitantly let himself lean back against the pillows and allow Viktor to curl his body against his own. When he emboldens himself to curve one arm around Viktor to hold him against his side, he tells himself that it is because it would make Viktor feel more comfortable.

None of it is true. Deep down, he knows that he relents because he cannot bear to let this moment end. He is not strong enough. Viktor is warm and solid next to him, and he wants this more than he’s ever wanted anything.

He tells himself that he does it because he must, but truthfully, he stays because he cannot bear to leave.  

**Author's Note:**

> My ramblings about this AU and general nonsense can be found on [ twitter](https://twitter.com/pensvsswords) and you can also find me on my [tumblr](http://pensversusswords.tumblr.com/)! I also talk about this AU relentlessly, so if you want to see all my headcanons and plans for the au, I've compiled all my twitter threads about the AU [right here](https://twitter.com/pensvsswords/status/861361063178186752). 
> 
> Feel free to come chat with me on any of my social media, I'm always dying to talk about this AU! :)
> 
> <3


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